Phoenix
by The-Goldstein-Sharpshooter
Summary: Dead. Alive. Grey. Red. This is Pyro's world as she knows it. But her world will be burned down to the ground as she enters the RED team. Will she emerge out of the ashes, or will she crumble? T for swearing, minor suggestive themes, and slight gore.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Team Fortress 2._

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><p><strong>Phoenix<strong>

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><p><strong>Prologue: Rebirth<strong>

She remembered the flames. Leaping up around her, the heat pressing against her body like a red-hot iron. Cowering, she curled up into her corner, her eyes wide with terror as one by one the flames devoured those she cared about.

_Padre!_

Big and strong, her pillar of strength and protector, guardian against ghosts and ghouls, turned to blackened ash before her eyes.

_Mama!_

Bedtime stories, lullabies and the delicious smell of baked cookies all melted as the scent of burning flesh branded itself into her nose.

_Paolo!_

Her younger brother, with his cheeky laughter and mischievous pranks. Only now, all she heard was cries of pain, that turned to a hacking cough, and that slowly died away...

She was sure she was next. The Devil was persistant, they say. "Like a raging lion, he is waiting to devour you." The flames slowly advanced onto her, the thick smoke above blackening out all hope. It was getting difficult to breath, but she didn't even dare open her mouth to cough. Her lungs were close to bursting, she was so, so hot...

And then, there was a crash. Something gave way underneath her, and she fell into darkness and the flames...

Her first thought when she awoke was how white the sky in Heaven was.

Any illusion of a reunion with her family was shattered when the doctor came in. No, she was not dead with the rest of them. She was alive, still part of the living, not dust or roasted meat.

Was she really alive? She felt dead to the world.

The days went by for her in a blur. Reality blended into nothingness, into white and grey. The funeral was attended by few, her family had been new in the neighbourhood. It was a kind few who even came, and most of them for concern for her. But she didn't notice any of them. All she saw on that day was the green green grass and the blue blue sky.

So green and blue, so pure that it mocked her with its very existence.

After the funeral, there was a question of who was to care for this poor little girl. There were no relatives save for an Uncle all the way in Sicily, involved in some shady doings. Hardly the environment for a growing child. In the end, she was taken in by the kindly neighbours, who adopted her.

A new name, a new house, new family...

But nothing was ever the same.

Nothing could bring back life into the living corpse. Nothing could colour her world bright ever again. Everything she did, she did so with no enthusiasm. Her foster parents tried; they really did care for the girl as best as they could, poor as they were. But she could not manage even a spark of feeling anymore. As far as she was concerned, she died along with her parents, that night when the fire started.

She felt she would never live again.

Until the day that she saw her nemesis again.

Her foster mother had been cooking up something for her; she had gotten great marks in her school, and that was cause for celebration, right?

She didn't even know why they bothered.

As she sat in the kitchen, her grey eyes looking everywhere yet at nowhere, her foster mother started the stove.

Blue and orange flared up in unity.

And she stared at it.

This tiny thing that glowed and danced on the stove. How small, how insignificant. And yet it had claimed her family, the most important thing in her life. She stared at it as it flickered, the voice of her foster mother bluring into the background.

And that was when the fear rolled back into her. For a second, she was back in her bedroom, crying for her parents as her world around her crumbled to nothingness.

Her mouth opened to scream, but no noise came. Only a tiny sound.

A tiny sound of fear.

And that was when the phoenix was reborn from the flame.

For that was the first time, in six months, that she had felt even a flicker of emotion.

And she felt alive.

Weeks passed to months, passed to years. And yet she always felt best at the kitchen stove, cooking away. Her foster parents were relieved that the faint traces of a smile could be seen on her painted lips whenever she was at the stove, but the poor people did not know better. For she was only there to see the fire. To wield it, and to control it. The fear that had stung her as a child had brought her back, for how can the dead feel anything? And as time passed the fear seemed to transform into something else as she mastered the art of using it. True, it was only to whip up dishes that seemed to get better and better, but she considered the food a side benefit. For to her, fire was death. Fire was life.

And she no longer feared it. But her fascination, no, her addiction to fire never stopped.

She felt that she needed to do SOMETHING with it. Cooking with it helped scratch the itch, but never for long. Her lips would curl in a scowl as she watched the soup boil and bubble; it wasn't enough. She needed something more.

She soon found out what it was.

One night, a burglar broke into the house.

The man demanded money, demanded valuables, demanded everything. And her foster parents, they gave everything. But they begged him for only one thing.

"Don't touch her."

Moments after taking everything, he pulled the gun on the two. She watched, her eyes reflecting apathy, as they fell to the ground, red splashing everywhere. She knew that she should be feeling horror, sadness, anger, frustration, even anguish. But nowhere could she muster enough feelings to shed even a tear.

And then he turned his eyes onto her.

She could read him as he advanced, that greedy, lustful look in his eye. But she felt no fear at all. Not even as he grabbed her shirt and ripped it off. No fear did not mean no survival instinct. The moment the fabric gave way, she zipped away. The bullets missed her by inches, but she was never scared.

The murderer raged and chased her, determined to have her. The showdown was in the kitchen, she by the stove, he at the doorway. There was no escape for her here.

Or was there?

As he came closer, she stood still like a doll, her face revealing nothing. But when he was but two steps away, something flashed in her eyes, and she cracked a smile at him.

He stopped, bewildered.

Big mistake.

He cursed in shock as she threw something at him. Liquid, of some sort. He randomly pulled the trigger, but she was already two steps ahead of him. Calmly, she watched as he fumbled around, trying to get his bearings.

He couldn't know that she left the stove on.

Like little Gretel, she gave a gentle push.

The other neighbours had already been running towards the house the moment all the gunshots went off. But what shook them was the shrieking cries of pain that echoed throughout the entire village. By the time they reached the house, the police leading the way, there was nothing but a smoldering heap, a bad stench, and her.

She was laughing. Hard.

The police ruled it as self-defence. The ambulance came and took her with them, but found nothing wrong. They gently broke the news to her that her foster father was dead and her foster mother was in a coma. There was no telling whether she would ever waken or not. "Do you want us to euthanize her?" they asked.

She shook her head. No, she didn't want her foster mother to die.

"It will cost a long to keep the machine going," they said.

She would get the money, no problem.

For that morning, she saw the advertisement. "Looking for a pyrotechnician" it had read. The pay was good, and it had to do with making fire.

She could live with that.

And if they wouldn't accept her, she'd show them how good she was. She'd show them how she handled the Devil, how she could look the flames with a cool eye and tame it.

Picking up the phone, she dialled the number. A spark of excitement had alighted inside her dead body.

She felt alive.

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><p><em>TF2 is so horribly addictive. I'm so glad that there's fanfiction written for it!<em>

_Yes, another "Pyro is a girl" fanfic. I've taken the liberty of making Pyro Italian, as supposedly the woman are quite "fiery" there. Get it? *gets stabbed by Spy* _

_As to who the Pyro should be with, I don't know really. Haven't had an idea of who to pair her up, or if there's a pairing in the first place! There's a poll on my page for this, so come over and vote if you want her to be someone in particular, or if she should just be by herself._

_Thanks for reading! _


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